by Nancy Warren
The engagement dinner her mother had forced on them all for this evening suddenly didn’t seem so deadly. She’d have a chance to get her father’s opinion on her find.
13
Dark Moment is a horror story that pits a lone woman face-to-face with her deepest fears. Terrifying, vengeful, yet poetic, the film left me sleepless for two long nights.
THE FORMAL DINING ROOM seemed to close in on Tess. She felt at any moment the wall behind would strike her chair, and her mother’s collection of British royal plates would tumble from the plate rail and crash to the damask tablecloth, smashing the roast lamb dinner and making mulch of the tasteful centerpiece.
Ty Cadman’s voice was loud, his brand-new, whiter-than-white teeth snapping like a shark’s jaws as he enunciated each word.
Rose Elliot had felt duty-bound to invite the Cadman family for dinner celebrating Jennifer’s engagement because Rose and Jennifer’s mother, Mildred, were co-chairs of the annual Pasquaile Floral Parade. Both Tess and her father had argued against it, but her mother’s rules of correct social behavior were as set in stone as the Ten Commandments.
A dull throbbing started behind Tess’s eyes as she attempted to enter the spirit of Jennifer’s wedding preparations and to ward off blindness from the dazzle of her engagement ring. Vulgar, her mother had called the ring. Common and vulgar were two of the worst crimes in her mother’s opinion.
Rose Elliot was saved from appalling snobbishness by her earthy sense of humor and her ability to judge character.
In Tess’s mind, Jennifer Cadman was common and she deserved her rich-as-sin but thicker-than-oatmeal groom, who seemed to take second place in Jennifer’s affections behind her enormous engagement ring.
“Well, Tess,” said Ty Cadman, raising his voice across the table and interrupting his daughter’s recitation of her honeymoon itinerary. “I’ve taken care of a nasty problem that will make my life, and yours, easier.”
There was only one thing he could do to make her life easier. Confess that he was engaged in an illegal land development. On tape. “Really.” She smiled politely. “And what is that?”
“I’ve finally convinced the Star to get rid of that two-bit hack Mike Grundel.”
As his words sank in, she placed her knife and fork carefully on her plate, then clenched her hands in her lap. Keeping a calm expression pasted on her face wasn’t easy. “You mean—”
He made a slashing motion across his neck. “Fired.”
While Tess contemplated the etiquette of stabbing a guest in the heart with a butter knife, Rose Elliot shot her a quelling don’t-even-think-about-it look and spoke. She had to hand it to her mother. She could sound more like the queen than the queen herself when she chose. “Might one ask why?”
“He’s a chump, that’s why. He’s been snooping around asking questions he shouldn’t.”
Oh, no. Mike had told Tess he planned to dig around to find out more about the clearing they’d stumbled across. Obviously he hadn’t been discreet.
“I’d always understood that asking questions was part of the journalist’s profession.” Rose Elliot smiled.
“When…” Tess cleared her throat. “When will this happen?”
“I think I can guarantee you won’t be sitting next to him the next time you go to see a movie.”
Dinner seemed to last an eternity. Her stomach pitched every time she thought about Mike. Did he know yet that Cadman had managed to get him fired? Or at least claimed as much. She wouldn’t believe it until she’d spoken to Mike in person.
But she wanted to speak to her father first. Her father who’d started his career as a lawyer before moving into the more lucrative field of buying up struggling companies and putting them back on their feet.
He was a shrewd man, as well as a powerful one. He tolerated Mr. Cadman but she knew he didn’t like or trust him. He certainly hadn’t become involved in Cadman’s latest land scheme. Besides, he was her father and she trusted him—she couldn’t think of anyone better to help her get the information she needed.
So she settled in to outwait Ty Cadman, feeling a little like an executioner waiting through her next client’s last meal.
Then she thought about how Mike must be hurting, and all the good their story could do, not only for the eagles, but for her career. From now on, when the people of Pasqualie talked about Tess Elliot, they’d be talking about how her stories changed their town forever. She might actually be referred to without reference to her father, her mother or her trust fund.
“Darling!”
“Hmm?” Tess glanced around and realized everyone was staring at her. And there was a big stupid grin pasted on her face.
Ty Cadman chuckled. “She’s just happy her old enemy Mike Grundel is about to be minus his job.”
“Actually, I’m a great admirer of his work.”
Her mother, who’d saved more social situations in Pasqualie than anyone could count, calmly rose. Tess could almost see her supersensitive controversy antennae quivering. “Coffee in the living room, I think. Shall we?”
She gestured with imperial graciousness to Mrs. Cadman and Jennifer to precede her. “Tess, darling, run in the kitchen and ask Mrs. Boorman to bring coffee and tea into the living room, will you?”
Mrs. Boorman had been bringing coffee and tea into the living room after dinner since before Tess was born, but she appreciated her mother’s masterful handling of the situation. No voices would be raised in her home if she could do anything to prevent them.
Whether she’d offended Ty Cadman with her support of Mike or whether he’d had enough of their company, she wasn’t certain, but he downed his coffee with what her mother would term indecent haste, collected his family and left.
Tess, whose stomach was pitching with anxiety, was thrilled to see the back of him.
“Dad,” she said as soon as she’d watched the Cadman car drive out of the gates, “I need some legal advice.”
His brows rose, “Are you in trouble?”
“No. At least I don’t think so. It relates to work and it’s confidential.” She toyed with the tassel on a cashmere throw.
“All right. I think I can manage to keep a confidence. Will you excuse us, darling?”
“Mmm? Yes, of course.” Her mother was staring at Jennifer Cadman’s wedding invitation. Vulgar and common it might be, but at least she was about to be married. Tess didn’t need to read her mother’s mind to know what she was thinking. She groaned inwardly.
“Come into my office, Tess,” said her father.
Once she’d settled into one of the deep comfy chairs he kept in his office, he grinned at her. “Hiding out from your mother?”
“Why would I—”
His chuckle interrupted her. “I think we both know she’s got visions of apple blossoms and the tune of ‘Ave Maria’ running through her head right now.”
“Dad, don’t you want me to get married?”
“Of course I do. But not to a clod like that fellow Jennifer Cadman’s chosen. I hope you’ll have the brains to go for the man, not the connections.”
“You’re all right, Dad.” It was nice to know that if the situation ever arose and she wanted to spend her life with someone like Mike, for example, she’d have an ally in her father. “Can you interpret a will for me?”
She had his full attention now. “You’re writing your will? Tess, you’re not sick—”
“Not my will. Eugene Butterworth’s will.”
“The artist?”
“Mmm-hmm. The man who painted that.” They both turned to gaze at the Butterworth on his wall, one she’d grown up with. “Mother let me look at the original in the museum and I copied it word for word. I’m working on a story and this will is part of it.” She reached for her purse and pulled out a sheaf of notes.
Her father sent her a narrow-eyed glance, then reached for his reading glasses. “You know I haven’t practiced law in years. I may not be able to help you.”
“I’ve high
lighted the parts I want clarified.”
“Mmm.” He took the pages and began to read, starting at the beginning, as she’d known he would, and reading every word of the document. When he got to the end, he flipped back to the highlighted sections and read them again, more slowly.
Time moved at a particularly sedate pace in her father’s study. It always had. But now, when her stomach was a mass of nerves, when so much depended on the contents of Butterworth’s will, time seemed to have dozed off for a nap.
At last, he raised his head and removed his reading glasses. “I would say this will was very clear in its intent. Mr. Butterworth left his land and a cash fortune to his sister to protect land along the Pasqualie River for the future. His papers, photographs and all paintings in his possession he bequeathed to the newly formed Bald is Beautiful organization upon his death.”
She let out her breath. This was the first hurdle overcome. Her father interpreted the will just as she had. The second hurdle was much tougher to jump. “Let’s suppose the organization had something of value from Eugene Butterworth’s estate. Something that had been in a closet for years and forgotten.”
“Like a previously unknown painting?” He glanced up, interest and speculation burning in his eyes.
She nodded. “Exactly like that. To whom would it belong?”
“To Bald is Beautiful. The will is perfectly clear.”
“Could his descendants claim it was theirs? After all, one of his paintings would be very valuable today.”
Her father sat back, put on his reading glasses, and once more read through the will. “I never worked in estate law. I know some experts who could give you a more reliable opinion, but I don’t believe there’s any way to misread the will. If the organization still exists, the painting belongs to them.”
“Oh, yes. It still exists.”
“I don’t see a problem, then.” He glanced at her over his glasses. “Is this part of an assignment for the Standard?”
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “It’s not exactly an assignment, more of a story I’m working on.” Her father was on the board of directors of the Standard and could put a stop to her newshounding even more easily than Mr. Cadman had arranged for Mike to lose his job.
A reluctant twinkle told her her father had read her mind. “It’s not exactly a society wedding or a movie review, is it?”
“No, Dad. But it’s an important local story. I think Mr. Cadman’s planning to build a hotel and casino in an area of sensitive wildlife habitat. This will could help save it.”
“Be a hell of a good story, too.” He smiled slowly. “It’s about time Cadman got his comeuppance. He and his old buddy, the mayor, give this town a bad name. I’ll get a friend of mine to take a quiet look at this will for you. How’s that?”
She beamed at him. Then threw herself at him for a bear hug—something she hadn’t done since she was a teenager.
MIKE LOST ANOTHER ROUND with the punching bag. The stuffed leather sausage still hung, unfazed, while he was breathing in painful gasps, every muscle in his body screaming.
He wiped sweat off his forehead with his crooked elbow and staggered away on rubbery legs. He’d pounded the punching bag the way he’d like to slug Cadman. And, like Cadman, it had sustained his attack uninjured and Mike was the one who’d ended up knocked on his ass.
Harv watched him. After the first warning not to overdo it, he’d taken a long look at Mike’s face and hadn’t said another word. As Mike staggered past his old friend, Harv said, “When you finish in the shower, I’ll give you a rubdown.”
Too drained to speak, Mike merely nodded.
At least Mel had phoned him at home to save him the public humiliation. He owed her that. She said she’d argued with the publisher, tried to save his job and he believed her. One of the guys he’d questioned today must have blown the whistle on him and given Cadman the means to convince the publisher that his newspaper would be better off without Mike Grundel. He’d been caught red-handed with his hand in the hard news cookie jar in spite of Mel’s warnings. There wasn’t much he could say.
“Some broad tied you in knots?” Harv asked later as he rubbed him down.
“Nah.”
“That yellow-haired tootsie’d wind anybody in knots.”
Mike grinned to himself, wondering if Tess had ever been referred to as a yellow-haired tootsie before. His guess would be not.
He groaned as Harv plowed iron-hard fingers into his sore muscles. “Watch it.” Gradually he relaxed as the pressure eased. “Wasn’t her.” Slowly, Mike’s ragged breathing eased. The strong medicinal smell of liniment was comforting and familiar. “I got fired.”
Harv had quite a colorful vocabulary, Mike decided as he listened. When he’d worked out his first burst of anger, Harv asked, “Why?”
“I’m too close to a story Ty Cadman doesn’t want printed.”
Another string of profanities assailed his ears. “What you going to do?”
Mike tried to shrug, but it hurt. “Don’t know yet.”
“How you fixed for cash?”
He was touched at the old man’s generosity. “I’m good.”
“Why don’t you come down here and help out for a while? Club’s getting too much for me. I could use the help.”
He turned quickly to glance at Harv over his shoulder, then winced as pain shot through his muscles. He’d seriously overdone things. “You offering me a job?”
The old man scowled, daring him to show gratitude. “Yeah.”
He had to fight to keep the grin off his face. He was still angry, but the burn of it was lessening. “No, thanks. I’ll be okay.”
“If you need to earn some extra cash, come on by.”
“Yeah.” It was as close to thanks as Harv would accept, he knew. He felt a slap on his shoulder that made him wince, and he knew his friend was behind him all the way.
Some messages didn’t need a lot of words. Such as Harv’s utter loyalty and trust in him.
Fired. That was another message that didn’t take many words to deliver.
He didn’t like fired. Fired felt like defeat. Like being knocked unconscious during a bout you thought you were winning.
Mike could take it on the chin with the best of them. He was the first one to respect an opponent who beat him fairly. But Cadman was the worst kind of slime. A sneak who wielded his money and power instead of his fists, who hid behind bribery and false philanthropy.
The one ray of sunshine in this bleak day was that if Cadman pulled strings to get him fired, Mike was closer to bringing down the crooked developer than he’d realized.
As tired as he was, he took the long road home, on the scenic route that meandered beside the river. Not that it was all that scenic at this time of night. He was freezing his butt off, too, but it was quiet. Just him and the road. And the snaking darkness that was the river.
It wasn’t that the firing was such a disaster—he was pretty much done here anyway. It was time to move on to a new city, a new paper, new stories to dig up, new crusades to fight.
It was time to move away from Tess while he still could. Tess with her wide eyes, her naive beliefs, her generosity of spirit and passion of body. Tess who terrified him as nothing and no one ever had.
The engine rumbled beneath him as he cruised to a stop outside the old converted warehouse where he lived. All he wanted was to lay his aching body down and sleep for days. Man, he’d overdone it. He approached the underground parking gate where he kept his bike, when his peripheral vision tagged a suspiciously familiar red car parked on the street outside his building. He watched the door open, and, as the interior automatically illuminated, saw the last person he wanted to see right now. And the one he most desperately needed.
“Tess.” The word formed itself on his lips as he watched her emerge from the car, wearing a swirly blue dress all soft and flowing, perfect for a fairy-tale princess.
He motioned her to go to the front door and then proceed
ed into the parking garage.
He took his time getting to the door, hiding his feelings for Tess behind a scowl. He wanted to make this as painless as possible, to let her think he was a jerk and that she was well rid of him. Which was essentially true.
The silky skirt waved jauntily as she entered, but one look into the smoldering ash of her eyes told him she already knew about his job.
He had to hold himself back from taking her in a warm hug, as though she were the one who’d been hit with bad news. “How long have you been out there?”
“I don’t know. A while. My mother gave me leftovers from dinner, but I thought you’d need them. I know you forget to eat when you’re working.” He’d noted the foil-covered plate and its mouthwatering aroma.
He fiddled with his keys. She was right. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast when he’d gone to a greasy spoon to meet a nervous laborer who’d only give information off the record. He checked his mailbox, flipped through a few pieces of junk mail to buy some time. He had to do this right with Tess, finesse her out of his life so it was permanent. His fingers fumbled and he dropped a Chinese food menu on the floor. Finally he reached for the plate. “Thanks.” He tried to sound casual, but his body ached for her. For her comfort and warmth.
“May I come up?” she asked politely. Always polite.
His shoulders rose and fell, as if he couldn’t care less. He led the way up one flight of stairs to his door, unlocked it and let her precede him.
“I’ve never been here before. It’s nicer than I thought your place would be. You made it sound like a dump, but it feels like a home.” She was gazing at his kitchen, blinking. “You really are into cooking.”
“I get the urge.” But she wasn’t here for his home cooking, or for any of the other things he’d like to do with her right now. The quicker they got the upcoming scene over with, the better. He put the plate down and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I got fired today. Mel at least had the decency to phone me at home and let me know, so I won’t be showing up for work tomorrow morning.”
“I heard. That’s why I’m here. What can I do?” She was already removing the foil from the plate, putting it in the microwave to warm—as though she owned the place—and finding cutlery.